by Karen Greco
Honestly, all the blood was starting to get to me. I hadn't eaten in hours, and cravings were starting to kick in. I rubbed my beer-crusted head and tried to focus on my crunching hair and not my rumbling stomach. I would’ve killed for a rare steak, or even a burger. But at the rate things were moving, I wasn't going to make it out of there until way past breakfast.
I dropped my gaze to the outline of Max's muscular leg, snugly wrapped in his worn jeans. I could almost see the femoral artery pulsing through the curve of his thigh. I closed my eyes and considered what it would be like to sink my teeth into him, his blood warm and salty, slightly metallic.
"Want a candy bar or something?" Max's voice snapped me out of my gory daydream.
I opened my eyes to Max standing over me, watching me curiously. I nodded. The head move made me woozy. Not good.
Max felt my forehead. "Are you alright? You just went completely pale."
"Blood sugar," I whispered, closing my eyes again. I was having a hard time focusing. All I could smell was the coppery sweetness of fresh blood.
"I'll get you a candy bar." He ran his hand down my cold face. "Try to stay awake. Okay, Nina?"
I nodded and another rush of fresh blood hit my nose. It was a damn bloodbath in here. I wasn't sure a candy bar was going to cut it.
I took a deep breath and opened my eyes. Max turned the corner, heading towards the vending machines. There was a nurse sitting alone behind the front desk. I had to get out of the waiting room and away from all the free-flowing blood.
The few steps it took to get to the nurse felt like a mile. I kept my focus on her, the only non-bloody human in the room, as I inched my way through a gauntlet of open wounds. She looked up, eyes bored and tired. I didn't like doing what I was about to do, but her surly attitude made it so much easier.
"I need to see the doctor now," I said calmly, looking into her eyes.
"You have to wait your turn, honey." She snapped her gum and turned away.
I took her arm and turned her back to face me. "It is my turn." I glanced down at her nametag. "Jackie... Don't you think it's time for me to see the doctor?"
We locked eyes. Her shoulders dropped and her body relaxed. She looked down at her list of incoming patients, and smiled brightly at me. "Why, yes, here you are. It is your turn. Follow me, please."
"Max," I called as he rounded the corner, his hands loaded with about ten different candy bars. He nodded and followed behind.
I rarely use my ability to compel humans to my will. Generally speaking, I don't mind being part-vampire. But along with the blood lust, brainwashing another person to do my bidding makes me feel demonic. But I would rather compel someone than suck them dry. Tonight was about picking the lesser of two evils. I could live with that.
Jackie showed Max and me to a tiny room and left, still smiling sort of blankly at nothing in particular. The pang of guilt was quickly assuaged by no longer being surrounded by open wounds.
"I just wanted a bar, not a whole candy store," I snatched an Almond Joy from the pile of sweets Max dropped on the gurney.
"I didn't know what kind you liked." He looked a little sheepish.
"Thank you." I smiled, unwrapping the chocolate. I savored the first bite.
"You look a little better." Relief edged his voice.
"Yeah, I feel a little better. Maybe we should go," I suggested.
"Nope." His muscular frame blocked my exit. "You need to see a doctor, especially since you looked like you were about to pass out on me back there. Unless you want me to drive your bike again?”
I cringed. He ground a few gears on the ride over. I was worried about the transmission.
“So you are my ride back to my car," he continued with a smirk. "I need to make sure I am safe on the back of your Schwinn."
He had no idea how close he was to getting his blood sucked.
The doctor breezed in and Max flashed his badge. He went over the events of the evening with the MD, who proceeded to poke and prod my head and neck.
"Rusty blade gets an automatic tetanus shot," the doctor said as he pointed a flashlight in my eyes. "And you have a mild concussion."
Max looked vindicated. The doctor prepared the shot, and I looked the other way as he inserted it into my arm. I may be a bad ass, but I hate needles.
"Take acetaminophen and try to keep still for 24 hours," the doctor said. He swabbed at the puncture wound with an alcohol pad and then applied a Band-Aid, though I knew full well the needle prick already closed. "Can you do that?"
Twenty-four hours in bed? Good luck with that.
Max stared at me, "Yes, she will stay in bed for the next 24 hours."
"You sound pretty sure of that," I said sarcastically. I raised my eyebrows at him, and he held my gaze with such a fierce intensity that I looked away. My heart was pounding. I felt my blood rush to my pelvis.
I lost the staring contest. Max managed to fluster me, and he knew it. And he was savoring the win.
"Good," the doctor said absently, his nose buried in my chart. "We're all set here then."
He moved swiftly out the door. Max picked up the bike helmet and held it out to me. "Looks like I'm driving."
"The hell you are," I yapped, pushing the helmet into his stomach. "If you're worried about my driving, call a cab."
I stalked out of the room. I could almost hear him rolling his eyes as he followed behind me.
Frantic shouts interrupted our witty repartee. I pressed myself into the wall as a crush of medical personnel rushed down the hall surrounding a stretcher. They were moving fast, but not fast enough. Blood-soaked sheets were piled on top of a young male. The medics had the sheet pulled down to the man's stomach. One of the doctors had his hand inside the man's chest cavity, which was torn open. Shattered bones poked out, the jagged edges of skin and flesh hung down to meet his torso. I couldn't take my eyes off the carnage. A shudder ran through me and I felt my adrenaline boost. I wanted to throw up and have a snack all at the same time.
God, what is wrong with me tonight?
I shook it off and looked over at Max. His cell phone was chirping. Looking at the caller’s name, he scowled. He strode down the hall to take the call. I was left cooling my heels.
I could hear the doctors and nurses rallying to save the man in a room down the hall. Machines beeped and voices called, getting louder and more frantic. “Damn it! We’re losing him,” a female voice cried out. The sound of shouts died down as the sustained beep of a heart rate monitor told me they lost the victim. A cold gust of wind slipped past. I shivered.
A man stepped right through the curtain and looked directly at me. He was dead, an apparition, and his body kind of rippled as he moved, not quite translucent -- I could make out his face, his eyes, his youthful physique -- but he was definitely not a solid form. I blinked and stared at time, dumbfounded. He was a ghost. I had never actually seen a ghost before. They don’t physically appear to humans. Or vampires.
He was young -- I'd put him at 19, maybe 20 -- with a handsome, brooding face that carried several scars. His arms were inked with a mix of tattoos, including a giant cross on his bicep. But his eyes gave me a start -- they were haunting and old. He had clearly lived a life much longer than his birth years. And it didn't look like he was going to find much peace in death either.
The ghost's eyes went from haunted to determined. His form moved swiftly down the hall, and pushing towards me. I drew back, once again pressing myself against the wall. But it was too late. My body tensed up against the cold, wet thickness of ghostly goo that ran right through my own body. I shuddered. Gross.
Just then, Max returned, pushing his phone back into his pocket. He looked surprised to see me pressed against the wall.
"You okay?" he asked gruffly.
"Yeah," I peeled myself off the wall to walk to the exit. I lost track of the ghost.
"Will you be alright on your own?" he asked. "That was the Providence PD. There was another murder and a victim was foun
d alive. He’s here at the hospital. I am going to stick around and see if he’s up for questioning after the doctors are done with him." He nodded at the room that the ghost came out of. Guess the ghost was the victim they thought was alive.
"He’s not talking," I shook my head sadly. “He didn’t make it.”
Max turned and kicked the wall, frustration twisting his chiseled face.
"Want to drop me at a crime scene then?" he asked grimly.
"Why not," I said with a shrug. "It'll be the perfect nightcap to an evening like this."
CHAPTER 5
We headed to an abandoned dock at the Port of Providence, not far from the hospital. I forced to Max make a pit stop on the way to the crime scene. The candy bar did next to nothing to curb my hunger, and I needed a meat-like substance in my stomach before I snapped. There was a 7-Eleven about a block or so away from the crime scene, and I love hot dogs.
I squinted, my eyes adjusting to the harsh fluorescent lighting of the convenience store. The cashier had classic rock playing on the boom box behind the counter. Max studied the coffee. I made a beeline to the greasy “Big Bite” hot dogs spinning around on the rotating grill. Which one, or two, or maybe even three, wasn’t sitting there all day?
I chose one dog and examined the self-serve toppings. After deciding on mustard only, the pump squirted a huge blob on the corner of my dog. I used the hot dog to spread the mustard out evenly, licking the mess off my fingers when I finished.
I examined the Slurpee selection. I missed the Slurpees of my youth. The flavor choice was limited for sure, but I missed the simplicity of grape and cherry. It was too damn cold anyway. Opting to live without the sugar rush, I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge down the aisle.
“You want a coffee?” Max called out from around the microwave that was blocking us. I wrinkled my nose. Coffee from 7-Eleven? Gross.
“No thanks.” I stopped and examined the fruit in the open refrigerator case. The poor little apple looked all bruised up. So much for healthy eating.
I maneuvered through the aisle to the register. The classic rock-loving clerk with three-day-old stubble stared at me from leaky red-rimmed eyes. Along with the dark circles, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.
“I got his coffee, too,” I said, nodding at Max who was dumping at least 20 packets of sugar into his cup. I guess he was hoping to mask the taste.
“Ummm… Ahh… OK?” The clerk looked slightly baffled, like the idea of ringing up a cup of coffee halfway across the store was too taxing for his brain. Thankfully the register beeped loudly with each button he pushed, saving me from having to make awkward chitchat with a guy that was clearly stoned.
I dug out some cash from my jacket pocket, paid the man, and then stood by the newspaper rack, staring out of the plate glass window.
Absorbing the view of a flickering neon sign in the shape of a woman’s extra large boobs, I bit into my hot dog, the slightly burnt skin giving my teeth a little resistance. I sighed in pleasure at the salty, nitrate-filled goodness. Max slipped up beside me, and stared out at the depressing landscape. A lone working girl was walking up and down the deserted streets, hoping for a date.
“Great atmosphere,” he said flatly. “And how can you be a coffee snob but eat that?” He stared as I shoved a huge chunk of hot dog into my mouth.
“Don’t knock ‘em,” I said through my chews. “These things hit a certain spot like no other questionable foodstuff.”
Max laughed and wiped a bit of yellow mustard off of my cheek. With my hands hot dog free, I opened the bottle of water and chugged down about half.
“So explain this place to me,” Max stared out at the Providence wasteland.
The area was pretty desolate, even though it was teeming with nightclubs a little over a block away. Of course, they catered to a decidedly seedy crowd.
“Several years ago, the city passed all sorts of ordinances that basically relegated the nudie bars to the area around the docks. We are on the strip of road that the locals called ‘Fantasy Island,’" I explained. “This road runs parallel to the water. If you keep going north, towards downtown, the clubs and sex shops get more populous.”
There was a club for every predilection, even of the illegal sort. There was the usual illegal gambling and prostitution, but there were also rumors of production on snuff films and other freaky acts.
Max raised his eyebrows. “Any of them any good?”
I snorted. “Yeah about as good as the hot dogs.”
He laughed, and shoved open the 7-Eleven door. “How far are we from the crime scene?”
I looked over his shoulder as we walked out the door. I could see the blue and red cop lights flashing from the parking lot.
“It’s right on the docks, just about a block that way.” I pointed left, towards the light show.
“I’ll walk the rest of the way,” he said. “The cops probably won’t let you much closer than this anyway.”
I straddled the bike and strapped on my helmet, feeling awkward. “Are you going to be able to get back to your car later?” I asked.
Max nodded, smiling, and laid his hand on my arm, giving my bicep a squeeze. “You and your concussion OK getting home?”
“No problem.” I smiled back at him and started up the engine.
Max nodded. "See you later." Then he thumped the top of my helmet and walked off in the direction of the red and blue flashing lights.
Once Max was out of sight, I started up the bike and followed him in the direction of the cop lights, cutting into an empty lot about halfway down the block. I killed the engine and dismounted. Then I ducked behind a scrap metal heap.
Because the Port of Providence was the largest exporter of scrap, mountains of twisted and rusting metal surrounded the docks. And in the valleys around these peaks, the garish signs from the strip clubs formed a neon oasis among the jagged metal.
There must have been a ship that went out earlier in the day. The pile wasn't crazy high; it was far from the Mt. Everest of scrap. I could easily scale it.
Since I saw one of the victims ghost out at the hospital, I wanted to get a bird’s-eye view of this murder scene. If he decided to go full-on haunt, maybe I’d pick up some clues that could help a medium send him along to his next life. Since he died violently, there was a good chance he’d need a little help.
I carefully put my booted foot onto what looked like an old car bumper and pulled myself up. The pile shifted under my weight, but steadied right away. As quickly and as lightly as I could, I climbed my way to the top, tottering about fifteen feet off the ground, the metal groaning slightly with each step. I trained my eyes on the crime scene, wishing I had binoculars.
The dock was abandoned, but it was covered with about a foot of well-trampled snow. The seclusion, plus the proximity to the strip clubs, made it a good spot for illicit activities. From what I could make out, five bodies were arranged in a circle, with the feet meeting in the middle. It looked like they formed the spokes of a wheel. There was an empty spot that had a human shape indented in the snow -- my ghostly friend from the hospital. Max stood over the bodies, his shape casting a dark shadow where it blocked the police floodlight.
"Get out of the light, dammit," I muttered as the metal shifted under my weight. I readjusted my footing and a trickle of metal slipped down the pile. The uniformed cop by the crime scene tape stood a little straighter.
Max walked towards a man I assumed was a detective, allowing the light to flood back over the bodies. I gritted my teeth. Two men and three women. There were dark spots in the snow near the bodies -- blood spatter perhaps. But it was tough to make it out from where I was positioned.
Max huddled with the detective. He picked up a long, slender item. Murder weapon? It was hard to tell. This distance thing was a pain.
A flash of headlights pulled my eyes out of focus. I blinked a few times. When I looked again, my hospital ghost was standing in a disturbed area of snow near the corpses. That mus
t have been where my little Casper went down.
He looked at the cops and looked back down at the bodies. He was growing increasingly agitated at what the cops were saying. His mouth moved rapidly, and his arms waved around, punctuating his silent words with an urgency that only I could see and sense. His defiance grew as the police continued to mill around the bodies. My hearing wasn't strong enough to pick up what the cops were saying, so I had no idea what had upset him.
He threw up his hands and aimed them at the floodlights. With a pop, the lights went dead and the dock was plunged into darkness. One of the cops let out a string of impressive curses and then chaos broke out as they scrambled to get the lights back up.
I shifted position again. The junk pile creaked under my weight. I lost my footing and slid several feet down the metal mountain, creating a loud crunching sound as metal scraped against metal. Landing ass first at the bottom of the heap, another pop sounded, and the floodlights unexpectedly came up again. I could hear more choice words as the sudden appearance of powerful light temporarily blinded the cops. It was a lucky break. The noise I made had momentarily piqued their interest. With the sudden burst of blinding light, they forgot all about me.
Sharp metal pressed into my left hamstring, threatening to cut through. I pulled myself gingerly off the pile, and slinked towards my bike, the cops forgetting about the collapsed metal as they refocused on the carnage in front of them. A chorus of angry voices broke the silence. It sounded like someone trampled the crime scene in the blackout.
My breath caught when my bike came into view. Casper stood by it. My heart pounded when I saw he wrote "vampire" on my gas tank in what appeared to be blood.
"That better come off," I snarled. My cheeks flamed with anger.
His eyes widened at my foul look.